


Twilight

by Sequesters



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crying, M/M, Missing Scene, but hey its cathartic, its not even 700 words, this one's short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: The bandstand is as good a place as any to have a breakdown, right?





	Twilight

Twilight. An inbetween, volatile time. A time when the world marches inexorably from light to dark, and by the time one could consider it twilight? It’s almost  _ there. _

Twilight is where and when the last hope of light dies, and in the gathering darkness of the bandstand, where only an angel stood now, it died an especially painful death.

And the world shifted just a little bit more toward darkness.

Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, probably for the very last time, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. And really, what WAS there to do? Defy heaven? Get one or both of them permanently destroyed? No, no matter how much this burned like Hellfire in his chest, this was the best possible outcome. All he needed to do was...was speak with God, yes, that’s right, SHE would stop this nonsense, and then everything would just be...just be…tickety-boo.

But right now, all he could do was fix his increasingly blurry gaze on the retreating saunter of his enemy, his adversary, his...only friend. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink, he didn’t even risk  _ breathing _ , while Crowley left the park.

It took until Crowley was completely out of sight for him to finally take his breath in in a ragged sob.

Rarely did the angel cry. It was like swearing, he...tried not to, even when given a reason to. But this soul-rending hurt was coming from deep within his celestial core, manifesting itself up and outwards into the very human act of uncontrollable sobbing.

And so Aziraphale collapsed on the cold, unforgiving ground of the bandstand, down onto his knees and elbows, hands grabbing his own hair, corporeal body wracked with sob after sob and emotion after emotion.

It was even worse, that he had brought all of this upon himself. HE was the one who hurt Crowley and pushed him away, HE was the one who couldn’t be an angel right, and HE was the one who had found the real antichrist and said NOTHING!

Damn it all, what was he SUPPOSED to do?? Wherever he went, whoever he sought help from, he felt like he had to  _ hide _ something. He was already in trouble with Heaven, and he hadn’t even TOLD them everything. And if he came clean to Crowley about the whereabouts of the antichrist...that would just put _Crowley_ in danger, which he could not stomach.

“I want to do the right thing,” he sobbed, voice cracking brokenly into the concrete, “P-please, I just want to do the right _ thing _ .”

And, worst of all, while he was in the deepest depths of his despair, holy tears splattering the ground, the only thing he could think was that he wished Crowley was with him.

He looked up, eventually. It was fully night, now, and the streetlights had come on outside the park. How long had he been crying? How many angelic tears had he spent, making a small puddle of consecrated ground where his forehead pressed into the floor?

He stood up shakily. Oh, Lord, he was  _ tired _ .

He knew there was only one thing left to do, only one channel he hadn’t tried, and so he made his way back to the bookshop on unsteady legs.

-

Back in the bookshop, he stared down at the rug in the middle of the room. Angels didn’t technically NEED sleep, he COULD contact The Almighty tonight.

But really, it could wait til tomorrow. He...oh God, he needed a  _ moment _ .

He sat down heavily in his chair, and opened up Agnes Nutter’s book, idly flipping through the pages. He wasn’t looking for anything specific, but one of the prophecies caught his eye all the same.

Prophecy 3581: After the Devil hath gone and the Angel hath wept, there wille yet be Wonne more Almighty disappointment to come befoor the Ende. Look ye, without thy corporeal eyes, into the deep and despairing depths of the eyes of Hell, and ye shall see what the Righteouse and Morale path is too take.

“Thanks, that’s bloody well incomprehensible,” Aziraphale muttered, and closed the book.

**Author's Note:**

> Tiny little snippet that I've been sitting on for some time, the wording wouldn't work like I wanted it to but I think i'm mostly happy with it now! Thanks for reading!


End file.
